


cascades

by rfk (jfk)



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 20:30:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1792216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jfk/pseuds/rfk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shifting, he curls further into Miles and yawns. “Did you find a place to put the bodies?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	cascades

“Miles?”   
  
A grunt.   
  
“Miles!” The sound registers softly to Miles. He turns away from it and pulls the sheet up and over his shoulder, certain that it isn’t past seven in the morning, and therefore certain he doesn’t have to move on anybody’s token.   
  
“Miles, for the love of _God_.”A demanding finger pokes at his ribs and he spasms at the touch, turning onto his side and muttering viciously. He isn’t alarmed by the rude awakening with some fear that somebody has broken in –the greeting is too gradual, and he recognises the voice. Only Waylon could sound so dramatic.   
  
He finally opens his eyes to moderate darkness, but a white-hot line where hallway light meets the crack in their bedroom door helps him to find Waylon, illuminated above him in the darkness. If he hadn’t just been woken up so rudely, he might be inclined to lean and kiss Waylon, or at least say something that would warrant some affection.   
  
Instead, Waylon whispers, “I think there’s someone downstairs.”   
  
The idea of it is so preposterous that Miles turn onto his side and hears himself sigh. “You woke me up for that?” He grumbles. “Just go down and look yourself, you infant.”   
  
It’s likely that he’s being unfair to Waylon. The man seems genuinely concerned, but that’s probably because he isn’t nearly as tired as Miles is.   
  
“What if there _is_ somebody?”   
  
Miles sighs and gives Waylon’s hand a condescending pat. “My baseball bat is in the closet. Now go get ‘em, slugger.” He turns back onto his side and tries to close his eyes again. He hears the sheets rustle and then a soft pair of feet on the carpet. When he thinks about Waylon going down there, the image is comical to him, and alarming. He knows Waylon is no good in a fight.   
  
Flustered, he sits up, and grabs for Waylon’s wrist.   
  
“Get back into bed.” He says, his voice softening. For a second, Waylon eyes him with suspicion until he pulls Waylon in closer and kisses him in the corner of the mouth. “C’mon,” He says, watching Waylon’s initially tense muscles fall into laxness, the man settling besides him. “Stay put, alright?”   
  
Waylon doesn’t seem to appreciate the gesture, but lets go of Miles slowly. “I don’t need you to protect me, y’know.”   
  
Leaning into the closet, Miles’ voice is muffled when he replies. “Sure.” He emerges with the bat and stands arms akimbo. “You barely know which end of the bat to _hold_.” In the dark, Miles can see the glare he’s being given. It does nothing but entertain him. “You just stay nice and warm. I’ll take care of the _big bad men_ downstairs.”   
  
Waylon makes a noise of disdain and turns onto his side. With a yawn, he practically sing-songs after him, “Don’t strain yourself. Scream if you need me.”   
  
When Miles comes back up the stairs, having found nothing at all to report, and feeling a horrible suspicion that he won’t be able to get back to sleep, he finds Waylon spread-eagled across the sheets, fast asleep, looking so serene that he feels practically jealous. There is a small slice of mattress that Waylon isn’t covering, so he scoots onto the edge of the bed, and collects the other man’s limbs, pulling them in and curling around him.   
  
He kisses Waylon’s ear noisily, in order to wake him up, and breathes, “I took out all the burglars.”   
  
The man in his arms grunts dispassionately and shifts. “Mm.” Shifting, he curls further into Miles and yawns. “Did you find a place to put the bodies?”   
  
The joke is so outlandish that Miles has to laugh. “You plan for every contingency, don’t you?”   
  
“I aim to please.”   
  
Miles tightens his arms around Waylon, alternating between rubbing his back to simply laying motionless, unable to sleep, listening to the other man’s breathing even out until it is steady and measure like the tide when it’s out.   
  
He likes to think that had there been any real danger, he would have handled the situation with grace and dignity, only to return upstairs and send Waylon into fits of grateful arousal. Something like that, at least.   
  
But he doesn’t mind finding Waylon practically asleep. He’ll get his quid pro quo later.   
  
Shifting, he presses very close against Waylon and changes from stroking his back to his thigh, murmuring softly. “Do’you want to--”  
  
“No.” Waylon shifts further up the bed and exhales resolutely, committing himself to the idea of sleep. “Go to sleep.”   
  
Miles rolls onto his back and groans. “Oh, blow me.”   
  
He turns onto his back and thinks about keeping Waylon up, until he hears the faint murmur, “Maybe in the morning.”   
  
Miles edges into him again, and says, with a grin. “Can I get that in writing?”   
  
“Go the _fuck_ to sleep.”


End file.
